


we'll do everything on our own

by royalwisteria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Anniversary, M/M, pure utter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalwisteria/pseuds/royalwisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles chose where they'd be going for their first anniversary before Derek chose their honeymoon location; it's a place that he'd have chosen even if it had been Lydia and her high heels: the Rocky Mountains, the childhood vacation long gone with his mom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll do everything on our own

**Author's Note:**

> I was recently on vacation in the area of the national park there and I was inspired to write a sterek fic where they honeymoon/vacation/whatever in the area so here it is!!
> 
> [here](http://www.nps.gov/romo/planyourvisit/upload/detailedmapa.pdf) is a map of the park. of the hikes mentioned, I have done as far as Glass Lake (we didn't read the guidebook thoroughly enough to know it wasn't Sky Pond and thought it was), Emerald Lake, the Old Fall River Road, almost Ypsilon (Chiquita/Chapin instead, two mountains you cross on the trail), Fern Lake. I've not done Longs haha that's funny no way not ever hapening
> 
> anyways, my first teen wolf fic, hope you enjoy! further questions about the park, go ahead and ask c:

The trip there is seven hours, but Stiles knows it’s a drive totally worth making. He hasn’t been to the old Stilinski cabin since he was ten, but he remembers the retro stove and the quilts that his great-grandmother made however many years ago. He remembers the crocheted rug by his great-aunt and the balcony, how his parents would sit outside with a bottle of wine while Stiles occupied himself scrambling over rocks larger than himself that littered the ground between their cabin and their neighbors.

After his mom died, Stiles and his dad had never gone back and Stiles had never asked why not once he was a teenager. There was enough shit going on in his life then, with the whole werewolf thing, but Stiles can’t think of a better return than going with Derek as a first anniversary celebration. It wasn’t Derek’s first choice, but Derek had chosen an Arctic cruise for their honeymoon so Stiles gets to chose what they do for their first three anniversaries. He might or might not have decided on the Rocky Mountain National Park for each three years when they made the deal. Derek’s just going to have to deal.

 

 

 

As it turns out, Derek loves the mountains more than Stiles. He would feel more disgruntled about it, that it’s like Derek has found this side of him that he forgot existed, but he’s just so happy. So Stiles doesn’t get mad. He trails after Derek on the trails, as he bounds up them with that really annoying werewolf strength and energy, and, you know, Stiles never thought he was out of shape until Derek was at Emerald Lake and breathing just fine. It’s one of the easier hikes and Stiles is still slightly out of breath.

He regrets Emerald Lake mostly because of the tons of people that are also up and around the lake, but Derek has such a bright smile that he deals with the chattering he can hear in the distance. The lake is, admittedly, beautiful, with Hallett Peak and Flattop  Mountain hedging them in. They walk around the side of the lake and sit on rocks while they eat their sandwiches, their fruit and Stiles finishes off the water bottle he’d been sipping on the entire hike.

Tomorrow, Stiles promises Derek, they’ll do a more difficult hike. Today, however, Stiles drags Derek through Estes Park, the town on the east side of the Rockies, ten minutes from the Stilinski cabin. Derek grumbles through it all, but later he’s enjoying the fudge just as much as Stiles and has that corner-smile of amusement at the old-time photo shop Stiles makes him accompany Stiles to. In it, they’re both wearing over-exaggerated cowboy costumes, with the handkerchiefs around their necks, vests, and black felt hats tipped low enough to be dangerous looking. Derek pulls it off, because _duh_ he does, tall, dark and dangerous is his motto, but Stiles looks more ridiculous so he comforts himself with a couple pistols and the holster, leaning against Derek’s side with a smirk.

“I kind of want to do this with the pack,” Derek says after Stiles has had nearly half a bottle of wine and Derek has only had a single glass.

“No,” Stiles protests immediately. “No pack, okay? No pack.”

Derek shoots him a bemused glance and Stiles puts his glass firmly down on the side table and goes to straddle Derek on his chair, except they’re cheap lawn chairs, and it’s more sitting precariously on his knees than straddling.

“It’s only for you and me, Derek, you and me.”

Derek leans forward a little, wrapping arms around Stiles waist to keep him from slipping off, and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Okay,” he murmurs, pressing several light kisses around Stiles’ mouth before finally, properly kissing him.

 

 

 

The next hike is more difficult, though Stiles had only intended to go as far as the Loch. It’s his favorite lake so far, out of Emerald and the vague memories he has from his childhood. It’s peaceful, calm, much less people than yesterday, though Derek is clearly not okay with stopping at the Loch and pushes the two of them further up towards Timberline Falls and then to Sky Pond.

Stiles is nearly really angry when they get to Timberline Falls and discover that the way up to Sky Pond is by scrambling up some wet rocks and he is not ready for this sort of intensity. He had thought they would come to the mountains, enjoy some easy, starter hikes and then next year do some more difficult ones. Break in those hiking shoes of theirs and all. But no, Derek wants to go all out, and that involves climbing some rocks with slippery hand-holds and realizing that all of your clumsy moments would come to realization right when it’s a life or death situation. Seriously. If he had slipped, he would have broken his neck and several other bones at least. Goddamn werewolves.

“Jesus Christ Derek,” he growls when he gets to the top and is clinging to him while looking at the lake in front of him. “We are not climbing any more rocks like that.”

But of course they are, because this is Glass Lake not fucking Sky Pond. Of course Derek read the guidebook thoroughly and knows exactly how to get to Sky Pond and there is more scrambling and more of Stiles trying not to sob while he clings to rocks.

“You’re carrying me down.” Stiles leans back, stretches his arms in front of him and gazes at the lake in front of him. It’s pretty, though small, and doesn’t actually reflect the sky all that well because of the wind ripples. The guidebook fucking _lies_ —not that Stiles read the book, but anyways.

Derek nods absently, not even looking at the damn lake and an arm twists Stiles around, wrapping around his shoulders and causing him to look out into the valley they came from. Breath catches in his throat and a hand goes up to clasp Derek’s. They’re not on top of a mountain, but they could be with the view they have all the way down. They can see Glass Lake as well as the Loch and just— yesterday was great, but this is even better.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“Wow doesn’t even _cover_ it,” Derek says back, turning to give him what has got to be one of the brightest smiles Stiles has ever, ever seen on his face. He squeezes Derek’s hand just a little tighter and leans forward to press a light kiss to his wide, smiling mouth.

“You’re still carrying me down,” Stiles murmurs against his lips and smirks at Derek’s resigned look.

“After a picture we can head down.” Derek fumbles in his pocket for a bit before pulling out his camera, because his phone is shitty. Stiles would tease him for it, except that Derek would then get grumpy and demand _he_ take the picture with his damn smartphone, except that Stiles isn’t sure he could keep his hands still long enough to take the picture.

 

 

 

Stiles doesn’t know why he let Derek convince him that driving the Camaro would be a much better idea than his old, trustworthy Jeep, but he knows it had something to do with mileage and blowjobs. It was an unfair tactic, but Stiles knows that next year they are taking a better all-terrain vehicle because he just really, really wants to go up Old Fall River Road. Because, come on, going up the road the old trailblazers went up, with their wagons and shit, is totally awesome and cool.

But the Camaro is not up for it. Or, rather, Derek refuses to take the Camaro up the road, so that nixes some pretty cool hikes that Stiles knows is up there. Like Mt Ypsilon, which Stiles dryly points out every time it comes into view on Trail Ridge Road, which is paved, up to the Alpine Visitors Center.

“There it is again!” Stiles exclaims, twisting in his seat and pointing wildly. “We could have been on a hike all the way up there.” Derek doesn’t even glance over, probably because he can hear the telltale lie in his heartbeat. “Old Falls is the best way to get to the Alpine Center,” Stiles grouses as he slumps in his seat. The passing scenery on Trail Ridge is beautiful too, but it’s mostly the alpine part and it takes forever to get to this part.

“Are you even enjoying this?” Stiles asks, whipping his head back to Derek. “It’s sitting in a car for, like, thirty minutes and then we’ll spend twenty minutes at the center and then head back down. No hiking. No gaining views.”

Derek doesn’t say anything and Stiles still feels a slight roil in his stomach and he focuses back onto the road. Another good part about Old Falls is that it’s less likely to get Stiles carsick. That might be because the whole carsick thing is something that only started happening a couple years so Stiles doesn’t actually know if he’d get carsick, but the point still stands.

They reach the Alpine Center, Stiles eagerly scrambling out of the car and dashing over to the overlook point and sighing, hands on the stone wall and leaning a bit over.

“Be careful,” Derek says, by his side a moment later, clenching Stiles shoulder. “Don’t lean so far.”

“Aww,” Stiles says, slinging an arm around his waist. “You love me.”

His face carefully schools into nonchalance, but Stiles sees the corners of his eyes smile with the outer edges of his lips. “I put up with you is more like it.”

Stiles laughs. “Come on, we need to get matching t-shirts.”

 

 

 

“Derek?” Stiles sleepily mumbles when he feels Derek tugging at him. “What time is it?”

“Shh, don’t worry, go back to sleep,” Derek breathes across his neck and Stiles happily nestles into his pillow further.

A few minutes later, Stiles is aware of being suddenly lifted and carried throughout the cabin. He wakes slowly, in increments, vaguely aware of being buckled into the front seat and the car starting.

“Derek?” he murmurs, shifting in his seat, searching for a more comfortable position. “Wher’re we going?”

“Someplace pretty.”

“Mmm.”

But twenty minutes later, as Derek parks, Stiles stares long and hard at the trailhead sign and then at the clock. It’s 5:43 in the fucking morning and he does not like their current location at all.

“Derek,” Stiles calls, a warning tone in his voice. “Why are we at the Longs Peak trailhead?”

Derek cuts the engine and glances over, guilt written all over his face.

“Are you kidding me? _Longs_? It’s— it’s fourteen thousand feet! I’m not going that high, no chance.”

“Just imagine how cool it’d be though,” Derek starts, but Stiles quickly cuts him off.

“Okay, dude, I get that it’d be super beautiful and awesome up there, well worth the trip, but you didn’t even _ask_ me.”

“You would’ve said no,” Derek says, far too petulantly for Stiles’ comfort.

“You can’t use that tone,” Stiles grumbles. “Because of course I would’ve said no. You might be a werewolf with strength and shit, but me? Fragile human, please remember that.”

That pout is still spread across Derek’s face and Stiles sighs, slumping in his seat and refusing to glance back at him. “I’ll carry you the entire way up if you’ll say yes.”

He grimaces. “It’s not even six yet.”

“Stiles, please?”

God he’s such a caver. Derek’s eyebrows are a low scrunch and his mouth is a line that spells the imminent disappoint.

“Fine,” Stiles breathes out. “But if I die, my tombstone is saying ‘it’s all Derek Hale’s fault.’”

The scrunch smoothes out and this smile is as beautiful as the one from yesterday, but Stiles catalogs each and every smile of his and each one is as beautiful as the one before, each one happier than the last.

 

 

 

His legs are sore that evening, and Stiles has discovered that there is nothing more terrifying than the steep drop that he had narrowly avoiding falling over several times. It was thanks to Derek each time that Stiles hadn’t fallen to his death.

“I hate you,” he mumbles to Derek as they sit on the porch, a beer or two for each of them. They’re facing each other and Stiles has propped his feet on Derek’s lap and he’s giving them a slow, steady massage from the arch of his foot to the calf he can reach.

“It was worth it,” Derek tells him, pinching his little toe.

Stiles splutters over his beer, instinctually bringing his legs back but Derek’s faster and clasps his ankles so he can’t.

“Let’s do a hike we agree on before hand tomorrow,” Stiles says a moment later when Derek has continued his massage and he has continued to take occasional drinks from his beer and gaze out at the spread of view in front of him. The Lumpy Ridge they get to see as they drive into Estes is better, really the best, but the rocky tops and endless pine forests are also beautiful. Stiles continues to drink the beer they only bought for Stiles, although Derek had admitted earlier that the beer had been refreshing after the hike. Stiles isn’t sure if he’d been saying that to make Stiles happy or if it was true, but either way it made him happy and caused contentment to sluice through him.

“How’s Fern Lake?”

“Pass me the book?”

Their fingers brush as Derek passes the guidebook over and even now, years later, fingertip against fingertip makes him blush.

“Fern looks good, I guess,” he muses, quickly hurrying through the book. Derek can hear his heartbeat, but Stiles likes putting up the facade for his own sake. The fingers on his legs grow softer, less of a beating to prevent aches and more of a caress and, although he tries not to, his legs shift nervously and edge back.

There’s a soft tickle on his foot before they give up any pretense and lean for each other, Stiles feet sliding down to the porch as Derek’s arms block him in on either side.

 

 

 

It’s their last day and Stiles swore that he wasn’t going to be emotional, but after finishing Fern Lake (beautiful, but the sound of chainsaws as they fix the bridge didn’t quite help) Stiles tears up on the ride back. He’s not driving, Derek is far too possessive of his car for that, and Stiles cranes to stare out the rear window as they drive out the exit. He can’t believe that he was actually on top of Longs Peak, so far away and so incredibly tall and— the last time he had craned his head back like this, his mom had laughed and teased him gently about how they’ll be here next year. They hadn’t, because she’d been in the hospital. Turning to face front again, seeing Estes as they drive through the town, he tilts his head back and slides down the seat.

Derek reaches over and ruffles his hair. “We’ll be here next year.”

His lips quirk in a smile and as Derek’s hand slips out of his hair he grabs it and just holds it, thumb brushing over knuckles.

“We are, actually. Our second anniversary will be here too.”

Derek’s face does a sort of horrified thing and Stiles laughs, sitting up a little. “Again?”

“Yeah, and next time maybe I’ll sneak you into the car for a surprise trip to Boulder.”

“Oh.” Derek is really quiet for a moment and Stiles is about to push it when he speaks again. “Laura went to Boulder.”

“UC Boulder? No way!” He smirks. “My parents met there. When we came here before, they drug me all over and showed me all their favorite spots and how it’d changed. They even re-enacted their first meeting for me.”

Derek’s hands turn so that he can lightly grip Stiles’ hand. “You should show me next year.”

Stiles snorts. “You’ll hate Boulder.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The rest of the ride is quiet, though Stiles doesn’t let go of Derek’s hand as he stares out the window.


End file.
